


What the Word Means

by SoftlyandSwiftly



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: A tiny tiny bit of angst, Fluff, M/M, Smut, it's just really cute, like grossly cute, like sorry for posting really angsty stuff so have this, this is mostly an apology fic, zayn's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 10:17:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3484532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftlyandSwiftly/pseuds/SoftlyandSwiftly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn's been a little (a lot) in love with Liam for so long now that he doesn't even really think about it anymore. It's just a constant hum in his veins, and he's fine with it he swears, even though Liam has no idea. But then a certain word slips out of his mouth, and well things change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What the Word Means

**Author's Note:**

> Hi again. Okay so the response to my first fic was overwhelming and great, so I decided to post this one as well. It's just a short, sweet fic for fun. It's almost a five plus one fic, but slightly different. Thanks for reading!

The first time Zayn calls Liam Jaan, it just sort of slips out.

They’re laying together on the couch in Louis and Zayn’s tour bus (because management likes to pretend that they can separate the fireworks display that is Louis and Harry, like putting them on different buses makes a difference – it doesn’t; it just gives them two places to fuck) and Zayn doesn’t want to move.

He’s so comfortable, sprawled out on his stomach with his head resting on Liam’s thigh, socked feet thrown over the other end, and he doesn’t _care_ that they’ve got something to be doing (an interview, a quick public appearance, a gig, he doesn’t really remember at this point on the tour). He doesn’t care that Paul poked his head back to tell them to get ready, ordering Liam to wake Zayn up even though Zayn’s not actually asleep. He’s not moving.

“Zayn,” Liam laughs at him, running one large hand through his soft hair.

Zayn sighs and presses into the touch, making Louis groan from his bunk.

“You’re like a bloody cat, Zayn honestly. You’ll be purring next.”

“Like you’ve any room to talk,” Zayn replies without opening his eyes, knowing instinctively that Louis and Harry are undoubtedly tangled up together on that remarkably small bunk even though they’re both doing different things. There’s no _reason_ for them to be touching, but they have to be. It’s like an addiction, Zayn thinks, so much worse than how he is with Liam, so Louis really can’t poke fun.

“You know another name for a cat?” Niall throws in, already cackling. “A pus –”

“Ni,” Harry bites out in warning. “We don’t say that word. ‘s disrespectful.”

Louis coos at Harry, and Zayn snorts.

“Y’know Lou, I might be like a cat, but you’re like a bloody mum over Haz.”

Liam flicks Zayn’s ear in reprimand, and Zayn groans, turning his face into Liam’s thigh and burying his nose in the denim stretching tight over the growing muscles there. “No, no, no,” Liam laughs out, going back to running his hand through Zayn’s hair. “Zayn, I mean it, you ‘ave to get up.”

“No,” Zayn mutters against Liam’s leg, lips catching on the rough fabric.

“Zayn,” Liam’s fingers tug a bit rougher.

“Jaan,” Zayn groans out, scalp tingling at the exerted pressure, and he’s so focused on how that groan came out sounding more like a moan (like he’s in bed, and Liam’s tugging on his hair, the sensations travelling straight to his cock – but that train of thought never leads anywhere except to his hand wrapped around his dick) that he doesn’t catch the actual word that slips out.

Not until Liam’s hand stills, and Louis demands, “What?”

Then Zayn’s eyes snap open, and he freezes.

He sits up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and using that movement to take a casual inventory of the bus. Paul’s up front conferring with the driver still thankfully, and security isn’t paying them any attention, as per usual, but the lads –

Niall’s raising a curious eyebrow at Zayn, snapback obscuring his hair, Louis’s got a shit-eating grin on his face, like he’s just discovered blackmail material and Harry – (Zayn tries not to think about how Harry took an interest in his religion, his culture, his _language_ because Harry’s naturally curious and genuinely interested) – he looks surprised.

But Liam is the one Zayn ends up focusing on, because no matter what, it calms him down to see Liam’s familiar, easy-going grin. It’s tilting up his lips now, his warm brown eyes curious as he tilts his head slightly.

“What was that?” Louis repeats, grin growing wider as his blue eyes sparkle with mischievous intent that frankly worries Zayn no matter the occasion.

“Lou –” Harry starts.

“Because it sounded like Urdu,” Louis barrels on, voice going loud to obscure Harry’s protesting and Harry pouts until Louis unconsciously reaches out a delicate hand to tug on his curls and then Harry breaks into a grin that forces his dimples to deepen and Zayn wants to roll his eyes.

(He doesn’t, though, because secretly he thinks it’s kind of cute, the way they orbit around each other like they just know what the other one needs. And sometimes, he wonders – what would it be like for someone to comfort you so automatically, to make you happy with every little movement – and then he thinks of the way Liam – No.)

Zayn feels himself flush under the weight of four stares. “I – it was Urdu.”

“Right,” Louis drags the word out, rolling his eyes. “But what did it mean? Because, mate, we’re best friends –”

“Hey,” Liam protests, hand resting on Zayn’s head possessively and Zayn _does not_ feel his heart flutter at that.

“We’re best friends,” Louis repeats louder, glaring at Liam, “and you’ve never called me something in Urdu.”

“Oh, I’ve called you something in Urdu,” Zayn mutters.

Liam chokes on a laugh.

“Haz,” Louis whines, turning to the gangly lad wrapped around him. “Zayn’s not playing fair. Make ‘im tell me.”

Niall rolls his eyes and whips out his phone, losing interest in the conversation, but Zayn’s focused on the way Harry’s biting his lip. He shoots Zayn a wide-eyed look – and _shit,_ Zayn’s stomach drops – before turning back to Louis.

“He doesn’t have to tell if –”

“Harold!” Louis throws himself backward, one arm going over his eyes in an overly dramatic fashion. “Honestly! What’s the point in shagging if it doesn’t even make me your favorite?”

“Well,” Harry grins, leaning down to Louis’s ear, and then he whispers something that makes Louis go completely still.

His arm comes down slowly, and then he’s got appraising blue eyes trained on Harry’s face. “Seriously? You’d really –”

Harry grins, all innocence completely gone from his cherubic features, and nods easily.

Louis lights up, and Zayn feels vaguely ill. He definitely does not want to know what Harry just promised to do to Louis. He remembers the one time he caught them at it and shudders. He couldn’t go near whipped cream for months after that, and he’s sure that was relatively tame for them.

“Now?” Louis bounces up into a sitting position, snatching up Harry’s large hand in his and tugging insistently.

“No,” Liam groans out, looking faintly green (and Zayn remembers the time Liam caught them going at it, and how he still hasn’t told Zayn exactly what he saw). “We have an appearance. And also we’re all on the bus. You know the rules, not when –”

“There are others on the bus,” Louis and Harry repeat dutifully, though in very different tones. Niall snorts again, still buried in his phone.

Louis immediately dissolves into a pout, and Harry endeavors to distract him. Zayn’s counting his blessings when he feels Liam’s hand on his shoulder.

He turns, curious, to see Liam looking at him with a familiar half-smile on his lips. “Ya?”

Liam bites down softly on his bottom lip, and Zayn tries valiantly not to stare at the way it indents the pink skin, reddening it when Liam releases the grip. “What does it mean?”

Zayn exhales slowly, because he knew it wouldn’t be that simple. He shoots a nervous glance at Liam, eyes skittering away quickly. “Er, it’s a word for friendship,” he mutters. “Like a deep friendship, sort of.”

 _Such a lie,_ his mind hisses, but then Liam’s beaming at him and all other thoughts cease to be important. The way Liam smiles... fuck, sometimes it’s like standing in direct sunlight, Zayn thinks.

“Jaan,” Liam repeats, only slightly butchering the pronunciation.

Zayn’s traitorous gut swoops at hearing the word in Liam’s low baritone. “Jaan,” he coughs out, voice rough as he correctly pronounces it.

(And he’s thinking of the first time he heard his baba call his mum that, the two of them standing alone in the kitchen late at night. Zayn was supposed to be in bed, but he’d come down for a glass of water, young enough to feel guilty for it when he saw his parents still up. But he can still clearly see the way his father was wrapped around his mum, smiling such a gentle smile as he looked at her like she was his whole world, the word slipping out on a murmur, and he’d wanted that. He’d wanted someone to love like his baba loved his mum and Liam –).

“Jaan,” Liam repeats, grinning so wide his eyes go squinty.

“Ya,” Zayn nods, voice still far too tight, and fuck, he is so screwed. Liam repeats the words a few more times until he has the cadence right, and every single time Zayn’s blood buzzes with it and –

_Fuck._

He’s so fucked.

 

* * *

 

“Jaan, really?” Harry whispers to him later, one long arm wrapped around his shoulders as they smile for a picture.

Zayn smiles at the two girls in front of him, signing his name sloppily as they giggle loudly. “Shut up, Haz,” he mutters back, moving away.

“Did you tell him what it meant?”

Waving goodbye to the girls, Zayn turns an irritated glare on Harry. “No, course not.”

Harry eyes him, measuring him up, and Zayn tries not to squirm. Harry Styles cannot intimidate him; he’s like a giant puppy for fuck’s sake. “You should.”

Zayn snorts and walks forward to sign another sheet of paper shoved out at them. Harry trails him easily, waving at the fans with his dimples on full display. “Ya, Haz,” Zayn says quietly, ensuring that the fans won’t hear him over the general cacophony of the walkway, “I’ll just walk right up to him and say, ‘Oh Liam by the way, that word I called you earlier? Ya, it means something pretty close to light of my life. Also, I’ve been secretly in love with you for ages. Okay, bye.’”

“Light of your life, really?” Harry cocks an eyebrow.

Zayn flushes.

“Because, I thought it meant –”

“Yes,” Zayn hisses. “I’m aware of what it means, Harry. Lay off.”

“You should tell him.”

Zayn just shakes his head, and Harry, thankfully, drops it, wandering off to go sign things closer to Lou.

 

* * *

 

The thing is: Zayn meant it.

Sure, he didn’t intend to moan (and it was definitely a moan) it obscenely in front of their bandmates, but he did mean it.

Zayn’s in love with Liam.

It’s just a fact of his life now. He’s Zayn Malik, Capricorn, member of One Direction, and in love with Liam Payne.

It’s not that big a deal, honestly. At first, he was shocked, not only that he fell in love with a guy, but that he fell in love with his best mate. It’s definitely not something he ever intended on doing, but one day, he happened to glance over at a tired Liam as he scratched absently at his bare chest, shooting a grin to Zayn, and it slammed into him – he was in love with Liam.

For weeks, he convinced himself that he was mistaken, completely fried from a lack of sleep and feeling lonely. Liam was his best mate, so of course he was attached to him. It didn’t mean anything. But then he’d been wanking in the shower three weeks later and an image of Liam on his knees, lips red and bruised had entered his mind. Zayn had cum so hard he’d seen stars, and then, well, there was really no point in lying to himself.

Zayn’s in love with Liam.

He’s adjusted since then. Two tours later, and he had to adjust. Living in such close proximity with Liam on an almost daily basis is hell, but Zayn’s always been a bit of a masochist. He figured out his sexuality somewhere between their first and second tours, came out to the boys, and promptly buried his love for Liam behind everything else in his life.

(Except, he didn’t really, because he still loves Liam. He still stares at Liam for far too long. He still notices every little thing about him. He still feels his heart in his throat whenever Liam’s around. And he still can’t stop his mind from straying to other thoughts about Liam, and him, and what they could do...)

So Zayn definitely meant it when he called Liam jaan. The way he loves Liam... he’s fairly certain he's never going to feel this way again, and that’s why he hasn’t told him. Zayn’s in far too deep, and even if, by some miracle, Liam decided he was actually into guys and wanted Zayn, it wouldn’t be the same. Liam wouldn’t be immediately in love with Zayn the way he’s already in love with Liam.

He’s fucked himself completely over his best mate, and now he’s only made it worse, somehow, by throwing that word out there. Zayn feels like strangling himself.

* * *

 

The second time he calls Liam jaan, it comes out instead of babe.

“Hand me that shirt, Jaan?”

Liam freezes, mid-reach for the discarded shirt in question (one of Liam’s, already worn, and Zayn’s absolutely lying to himself about why he wants to wear it – obviously because he likes the shirt and not because it’ll smell like Liam).

“Shit,” Zayn mutters, forcing an embarrassed grin over his lips when Liam glances back at him. “Sorry, meant to say babe, not –”

“No, ‘s fine,” Liam grabs the shirt and hands it to Zayn, grinning at him in his heartbreakingly honest way. There’s faint color on his cheeks, and his eyes are lit up from within, Zayn swears. “I actually kind of like it, ya know? Something just between the two of us.”

“Just between the two of us,” Zayn repeats uncertainly, slipping the shirt over his head. And he sort of understands what Liam means, because all the boys call each other babe, and there’s really nothing to make it obvious that Zayn and Liam are closer than the others, but this word isn’t the right word to characterize that particular difference. Of course, Zayn can’t tell Liam that now.

“Ya,” Liam’s blush grows heavier. “Just, cause like, we’re best mates ya? Like you understand me, get the things I can’t say. I love the other boys, but you –”

“Ya,” Zayn cuts Liam off, heart pounding painfully against his sternum because fuck. He doesn’t think Liam understands what he does to Zayn, when he goes off on a tangent like that about what Zayn means to him.

“You don’t mind, right?” and now Liam looks unsure, like he’s asking for something he shouldn’t be from Zayn.

And Zayn laughs, because yes. He does mind. But it’s for Liam, and Zayn’s never been able to say no to Liam. Besides, he’s already been calling Liam Jaan in his mind, what’s the difference in saying it out loud?

(There’s a huge difference, a fucking Grand Canyon of difference between saying it in his head and out loud, but Zayn’s become adept at lying to himself.)

“No, Jaan,” he answers, stepping forward to encircle Liam’s wrist and tap against his tattoo there, a secret code they developed shortly after the ink appeared. It means hello, I’ve got you, I understand, I’m here. But this time it means, “I don’t mind.”

Liam’s grin makes the certain heartbreak completely worth it.

* * *

 

The third time Zayn calls Liam jaan, Liam isn’t even there.

Zayn’s in the shower, his cock in hand, and he’s pumping his length while biting his lip, and he swears he’s not trying to picture Liam but –

Liam on his knees, water sluicing down his muscled back as he bends forward and those lips – so fucking kissable, Zayn swears – wrap around the head of Zayn’s dick.

Zayn groans, eyes fluttering shut as he gives into the fantasy (as he always does these days, and he’s trying hard not to think about why it’s become harder to not think about Liam). His fingers flit over his slit, smearing the precum there to make his motions smoother as he pumps himself, tightening his hold as he imagines Liam’s larger hand instead of his. He pictures the way Liam would grin, eyes going dark as he smirked at the way he undid Zayn piece by piece, palming his cock so easily, wrist twisting at just the right moment and –

“Jaan,” Zayn gasps out, cumming hard as his eyes fly open, and shit that was loud. A blush is already staining his cheeks as he washes himself under the spray moments later, and he can’t believe that he just did that (for probably the fifteenth time in the past two weeks, and he needs to _stop_ if he wants to keep his sanity).

When he steps out of the shower, pulling on an old pair of sweats that could possibly be Liam’s, he notices Niall right away. It’s not unusual for the other boys to let themselves in though, so he thinks nothing of it.

Until –

“Just means friends right?”

Zayn whips around to see that Niall’s still focused on the TV screen, but his lips are twisted faintly at the corners in a definite smirk.

“What?”

Niall just shakes his head, smiling wider. “You don’t call out the word friend when you orgasm Zayn. Only could’ve been worse if it was his actual name.”

Zayn throws his wet towel at Niall, smirking when the wet material makes a hard slapping sound and Niall splutters.

He plays it off, but inside his heart is racing because it’s getting worse.

He thought he had all these feelings under control, but he’s been calling Liam jaan more and more and it’s blurring everything.

He needs to stop.

* * *

 

Zayn doesn’t stop.

Really, it’s Liam’s fault, he thinks as he watches Liam dance around the stage like an idiot. If Liam didn’t look at him like that sometimes, if Liam didn’t wrap his arms around Zayn from behind when he wanted a cuddle, if Liam didn’t seek Zayn out automatically, then Zayn would be fine.

It’s all shit that Liam did before of course; their relationship itself really hasn’t changed, but now when Liam cuddles up to Zayn on a couch or a bed or a bunk, he looks at Zayn expectantly, and the look doesn’t go away until Zayn gives in and says it.

And Liam lights up every time, grinning because he likes the word, claims he likes the way it sounds in Zayn’s mouth (and he tries not to read into that, ignored the look Louis had given him when Liam had admitted that a bit too loudly).

Zayn still thinks he should stop, should go back to saying babe instead, but as he watches Liam mess about with Harry while singing his heart out, he knows that he won’t.

He’s so ridiculously, painfully, heartbreakingly in love with Liam, and he’d never be able to explain why he just stopped using that word to Liam.

Liam lowers his mic finally, his lyrics done for the moment, and Zayn keeps half his focus on him as he picks up the vocals. So Zayn notices, immediately, as Liam makes his way over to him. He forces himself to stay put, even though he wants to run away, hide from the nerves wracking his stomach, and Liam slings an easy arm over his shoulders, grinning widely.

Zayn tries to focus on his voice, but he can see Liam grinning at him from the corner of his eye, and Liam looks fucking proud as Zayn sings their songs. Like Zayn’s the greatest thing to ever happen, and like Liam’s grateful to be anywhere near him, and it’s exactly how Zayn usually feels about Liam. He hates it. He loves it.

It’s not until Zayn’s finished his high note (voice almost cracking when he saw Liam gulp, eyes going a shade darker, and he’s _not_ thinking about that) that Liam moves in closer. He keeps his arm locked around Zayn’s shoulders, and his face doesn’t change so that to their fans it looks like they’re just watching the other boys but –

“Jaan,” Liam whispers into his ear, the word coming out on a breathy sigh of relief, like Liam’s saying it more for himself than for Zayn, like he’s claiming Zayn, marking him Property of Liam Payne and –

Liam waits for Zayn to say it back, and Zayn can never say no to Liam so –

“Jaan,” he whispers in a wrecked voice, and he counts it as the fourth time he’s called Liam that (even though it’s infinitely more at this point) because this moment feels significant.

Zayn watches as Liam grins once more at him and moves off to sing again, and Zayn knows that he’s so beyond fucked at this point. He’s forever going to be broken, a melted mess at Liam’s feet as he bares his heart to the world while Liam remains blind to it all.

It’s painful and poetic and dramatic and ridiculous –

And Zayn’s sort of in love with it all anyways because it connects him to Liam, gives him this intangible thing between them that no one else can touch, and it makes Liam _his,_ at least a bit, and that’s all that Zayn’s ever wanted.

* * *

 

“You call him jaan more than you call him Liam these days,” Louis comments months later.

“Sod off.”

Louis rolls his eyes, keeping his fingers busy with the task of rolling a joint that they’re really not meant to have right now. “I’m just saying –”

“Seriously, Lou, bugger off,” Zayn groans, flinging his head back to smack into the wall he’s leaned against. He knows it’s bad, knows the way his voice curls around the word and displays his heart to the open air. He’s quite aware that he basically says I love you every time he murmurs the endearment, and he’s achingly aware of the way everyone around them knows it too.

(He’s assaulted with the memory of Paddy from security offering him a bottle of water to hand to Liam with the teasing words “For your boy” and the way nobody else batted an eye at it, though Zayn felt like his heart had taken a serious hit and he can’t figure out how Paddy even knew because Zayn was ridiculously careful not to call Liam jaan in front of anybody but the other boys).

“Does he even know what it means?” Louis asks.

Zayn glares at him. “Do you?”

“Course. Haz told me.”

“Of course he did. Do I even want to know what you did to get him to tell you?”

“Who says I did anything?”

Zayn just gives Louis a look because they both know that Harry’s far too loyal to spill something like that to Louis.

Louis breaks under a few moments of that look and grins manically. “I may have rimmed him until he couldn’t remember his own name –”

“Ugh,” Zayn slaps his hands over his ears and tries to block out that mental image. “Please, don’t say that. God, Louis, its one thing to know that you two shag all the time. I don’t need the details.”

Louis grins in triumph, and then continues, “I’m just saying that you’ve been calling him the love of your life for months now, and the guy has no idea.”

“He could look it up,” Zayn mutters rebelliously.

“You know he won’t. He trusts you to tell him the truth.”

And ya, okay, that hurts, because Louis’s right. Liam hasn’t looked up the real meaning of the word (and those nightmares bothered Zayn for the first week afterward relentlessly) because he believes that Zayn’s already told him. The guilt eats at Zayn, sometimes, when he lets himself think about it but –

He’s selfish, in the end. He likes being able to admit how he feels in some small way, even though it’s not really admitting anything because Liam doesn’t get it. It’s still like some fucked up form of therapy, assigning such an intimate term to Liam in public, like calling him his boyfriend but more. It’s a promise of forever every time Zayn says it, and sure, it’s not the same promise his parents utter to each other, but it’s close because he and Liam will have their relationship forever.

And he’s not willing to risk that by telling Liam now.

“He’d freak out if I told him.”

Louis hums in contemplation, lighting the tip of the joint and inhaling until the cherry burns a deep red. “I think you should give him some credit, Malik.”

“What?”

“You ever wonder why Liam likes it when you call him a word in your family’s language? Why he fucking glows every time you two lock eyes and you say it?”

And that’s –

Zayn knows immediately what Louis is implying, but he can’t. He can’t think about that, because he’s too afraid to hope. He’s so used to thinking of Liam as a never goanna happen that it would kill him to think of Liam as a possibly. He just can’t.

Zayn holds out his hand for the joint and refuses to linger on Louis’s words.

* * *

 

The fifth time Zayn really calls Liam jaan (unprompted and significant, not just a throwaway request to make Liam smile because it’s different when it comes directly from Zayn, he swears, like he’s spitting out a piece of himself), he fucks everything up.

Liam’s on his phone with someone, video chatting, when Zayn walks into the hotel room that they’re sharing. He’s smiling, giggling at whoever’s on the other end, and Zayn tries to quell the sharp sting of jealousy in his chest. He has no proof that it’s anyone Zayn should be jealous of, but then a soft, feminine giggle comes through, and Zayn deflates a bit.

He’d meant to ask Liam if he wanted to go out tonight (because Zayn was feeling antsy after the concert and a cigarette hadn’t done anything to calm the buzz in his bloodstream) but now the very idea shifts like broken glass in his brain, and he realizes that he’s not anxious because of the show. It’s Liam that’s putting him on edge, Liam and his mixed fucking signals that he probably doesn’t even realize he’s sending.

_(Two days ago on the tour bus with Liam literally laying on top of him because “the couch isn’t wide enough to lay side by side Zayn c’mon” and Liam’s humming foreign melodies into Zayn’s neck as Zayn tries desperately not to assign his broken verses to whatever song is clearly in Liam’s head because fuck – )_

So Zayn turns because he definitely can’t do a night of that, fully intending on hauling Louis out with him instead and getting spectacularly wasted when –

“Zayn,” Liam calls and his voice is pure joy.

Zayn turns back around without thought, glancing at the way Liam’s perked up on the bed, eyes glowing with excitement at seeing Zayn and – _fuck._

“Hey, Li,” he forces a smile out. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, its fine,” Liam grins, flashing the person on his phone screen a knowing smile that Zayn doesn’t quite get. “I’m almost done actually. I was thinking we could –”

Liam’s gearing up to ramble, eager words flowing from his mouth, and he’s already ten steps ahead, and he’s not even really paying attention to Zayn, and that’s why Zayn does it. He does it to bring Liam back to him, to make Liam see him, actually see him.

“Jaan,” he blurts, just to snag Liam’s attention, and it does of course, Liam lighting up at the word like he always does. “You don’t have to –”

A choked sound from Liam’s phone cuts Zayn off, and his brow furrows.

“Who –?”

“Jaan?” the voice on screen demands, high and surprised, and Zayn’s stomach drops, because shit, he recognizes that voice.

“Doniya?” he yelps, lunging forward and yanking the phone towards him only to see his sister’s face staring back at him in surprise, surprise that is quickly morphing into pleased smugness.

“Ya, sorry,” Liam jumps in, settling closer to Zayn automatically, so Doniya can see both their faces. “I haven’t talked to her in a while so...”

It’s not completely out of the blue. Liam and Doniya met shortly after X Factor ended and they got along alarmingly well. Zayn usually tries not to think about the fact that Liam’s sort of friends with his sister, which is why he didn’t even consider –

“Did you just call Liam jaan?” Doniya demands, pretty eyes wide with delight.

Zayn opens his mouth to firmly deny it, heart thudding, but that sunshine grin is already spreading over Liam’s face as a faint blush colors his cheeks.

“Holy shit!”

“Dony, please –” Zayn tries, desperation making his voice go high.

“Mum is going to be so pleased!” Doniya exclaims, eyes going bright with excitement. “And dad, he’s going to flip! He wasn’t sure, before, you know, but now. Shit, Zayn, everyone’s going to be so thrilled, and I can’t believe neither of you told us, you wankers!”

“Wait,” Liam breaks in, brow furrowed as he glances towards Zayn. “Told you what?”

“Nothing,” Zayn cuts in, throwing the word out harshly to block Doniya off, because shit. Shit, he’s so fucked. “Doniya, it isn’t –”

“What do you mean it isn’t?” Doniya demands, excitement disappearing under a cloud of suspicion as she squints at Zayn. “I know you know that dad calls mum that when –”

Zayn makes a choked, abortive noise that makes Doniya clamp her mouth shut with newly widened eyes as she clearly cottons on to the fact that it isn’t at all what she thought. Her eyes betray the barest sense of ‘I fucked up’ before Liam’s demanding, “Wait, what?”

Zayn turns to Liam with his mouth open, ready to spew out ridiculous lies, ridiculous painfully obvious lies, but then he catches sight of Liam’s face, and he knows that it’s already too late. Liam’s brown eyes are wide with shock, and his mouth is slightly open, and it’s so obvious that he understands that Zayn lied about the meaning of the word, that Doniya’s convoluted sentences were enough to hint at a meaning of _more._

_(Fuck, so much more)._

“Zayn?” he asks, voice going weird, and Zayn knew that Liam would freak out. He knew it.

Zayn shakes his head stubbornly, biting on his bottom lip until he’s sure that it’ll bleed. His hands are shaking, and he can’t look away from Liam’s face.

“I thought it meant –”

Zayn makes another choked, abortive noise, and then he’s off the bed and running away.

He hears Liam call after him, voice desperate and pleading, but he ignores it. He can’t sit there and tell Liam the truth. He can’t, and he’s fucked it all up. Oh God, he’s fucked it all up, and now he’s certain that he won’t be able to fix it. You can’t just fix a friendship after you’ve been secretly calling your best mate the point of your existence for months. You can’t just say ‘hey I’ve been in love with you for ages, but I know you don’t feel the same.’ You can’t. He can’t.

Zayn bolts out of the room and down the hall, and he’s pounding on Louis’s door loudly and without care for any other guests.

Louis yanks the door open. “What the fu –”

“Liam found out,” Zayn blurts, cutting off Louis’s displeasure with wide-eyed desperation, and he must truly look a sight because Louis doesn’t even question it. He eyes Zayn up, clearly understanding what Zayn means, and then he’s nodding to himself.

“Right, so we’re going out then.”

Zayn sighs a breath of relief, so fucking grateful for Louis’s die-hard loyalty and compassion, even if it’s hidden under layers of other shit.

“Haz,” Louis calls over his shoulder, flashing Zayn an understanding grin. “Put on your clothes. We’re going to party!”

* * *

           

Zayn stumbles back to his hotel room sometime between one and four in the morning, he’s sure though he hasn’t looked at a clock since midnight at least. Not since –

_“Oi, honestly Zayn what’s the point in running away if you’re going to check your mobile every five fucking seconds for a text from Liam?” Louis’s irritation cuts through the pulsing music so clearly that Zayn jumps guiltily. The next thing he knows, his phone is disappearing into Louis’s pocket and it’s only because Harry whispers “Don’t worry I’ll give it back tomorrow” that Zayn allows it._

And he didn’t steal his phone back even though his blood fizzled in his veins the entire night and nothing could make it stop. Questions about Liam – what he was doing, what he was thinking, if he was freaking out, Christ, if he was pissed – could not be drowned out no matter how many shots Zayn took so he stopped after seven and –

_“You love him,” Harry mumbles into his neck as they grind on the dance floor and Zayn makes an abortive noise that Harry brushes away with a smile. “You love him, and you can’t avoid this forever.”_

So he’s back, and he swore in the cab with a drunk Louis climbing all over him and Harry that he’d find Liam and lay it all out, every pathetic detail after years of pining but –

But Liam’s been his best mate through that all, and he’s terrified that he’s ruined it. He doesn’t know if he can survive without Liam like another limb because this life of theirs is fucking hard, and sometimes he needs Liam just to breathe.

So he really can’t tell Liam because the risk isn’t worth the reward. Confronting Liam tonight isn’t worth it, isn’t worth it at all.

Niall’s room is two doors away, and he’ll let Zayn hide there because Niall never forces anyone to do anything. Zayn’s two seconds away from turning when his door flings open and a hand jumps out, fisting in his shirt and yanking and then –

 _Oh,_ Zayn thinks as Liam slams him into the wall beside the door and shuts it with a bang, and he’s crowding into Zayn’s space before Zayn can even blink, but he still sees the look on Liam’s face, and he’s so fucked he thinks as he takes in the flaring nostrils and the bright brown eyes and the flushed cheeks that only highlight those fucking sinful lips. And Liam’s fucking hot when he’s like this.

“Are you drunk?” Liam demands.

“Liam, I –”

Liam groans, deep in his throat, and his hand twists tighter in Zayn’s shirt until his knuckles are fairly digging into Zayn’s sternum, and fuck, that’s hot. “I know you went out with Louis and Harry. Are you drunk?”

“No,” Zayn admits, though he wishes he was. This would be much easier if he were drunk because then he wouldn’t have to look at how fever-bright Liam is, and Zayn’s overly dramatic mind thinks that he’s literally made Liam sick when –

Liam’s lips slam onto Zayn’s with enough force to knock his mouth open and then Liam’s tongue is invading his mouth, swirling around his own, licking at the back of his teeth, and Zayn –

A moan reverberates through his chest, and his hands, loose at his sides before, come up to tangle in Liam’s hair reflexively because how many times has he pictured this? Liam’s bruising force is so different from the soft kisses Zayn always imagined for their first, but he’s not complaining as Liam sucks his bottom lip and nibbles at it until Zayn’s nearly undone.

He’s breathing heavy when Liam finally pulls away from his mouth, and Zayn makes a protesting noise but then Liam’s pressing his hips closer, forcing Zayn’s legs apart so that he’s straddling Liam’s thigh and every inch of them is pressing together and _oh._

Zayn’s eyes go wide as he feels an unmistakable bulge pressing against his own erection, and Liam grins shamelessly.

“Lia –” Zayn cuts off with a breathy moan when Liam grinds his hips forward, their cocks catching through four layers, and Zayn thinks he’s going to pass out, honestly.

“I’m so happy you aren’t drunk,” Liam admits like it’s his most shameful secret. “Because I swore to myself that I wouldn’t do this tonight if you were drunk because it wouldn’t be fair, and I want you to want this like I do –”

“Want what?” Zayn nearly coughs out, still far too focused on Liam’s fucking dick pressing against his.

“Everything,” Liam mutters, grin going a bit manic as his eyes somehow melt further.

“Liam, I don’t –” Zayn starts, hands slipping from Liam’s hair to cradle the back of his neck.

“Don’t say that you don’t want me,” Liam cuts him off desperately. “Because I talked to Doniya” – Zayn groans – “and I can feel that you want me.” He presses hard against Zayn’s crotch and he just can’t help the deep groan that shakes through his chest. Liam’s grin of triumph almost makes it worth it though.

“I don’t understand,” Zayn confesses, eyes wide with arousal that he’s trying to temper because this is important. “Liam, what do you want?”

“Everything,” Liam repeats, leaning down to bite playfully at the tendons on the side of Zayn’s neck and his hitching breath gives so much away.

“That’s not an answer,” Zayn mumbles as Liam’s warm breath sends shivers racing down his spine, and he swears he can feel the smirk on Liam’s lips.

“I want to snog you until you can’t remember your own name, and then I want to strip you of these stupid fucking clothes, and then I want to lay you out on the bed and swallow you down to the root, I swear, and then I want to ride you until we both black out cumming, Zayn –”

He makes a noise that he’s fairly certain isn’t even human as he cuts himself off, and Zayn’s dick jumps in his trousers as Liam rubs pointedly against him, and “Fucking hell,” he breathes out. “Liam –”

Liam’s definitely smirking now as he leans up to capture Zayn’s lips in a kiss again, and Zayn lets go. He just goes pliant as Liam’s tongue darts into his mouth again, tracing the words that they aren’t saying into the roof of his mouth as he pulls Zayn closer. It’s a battle of teeth and tongue and lips as Liam begins moving them away from the wall and Zayn goes so fucking willingly because he can’t fight this anymore.

Liam’s impatient hands tug at the hem of his shirt, and he raises obliging arms until his bare chest brushes up against Liam’s and he moans at the feel of hot, smooth skin against his own. Liam’s fingers play over his stomach as they drift toward the button on his trousers, and Zayn would tense up if Liam wasn’t still invading his every sense as he kissed him towards oblivion.

Zayn’s jeans fall loose down his thighs as Liam spins them and the gasp that leaves Zayn’s mouth as he falls backward is pure surprise until he hits the bed with an oof. Liam chuckles, dark and throaty and raspy, his eyes never leaving Zayn’s as he bends at the waist to tug Zayn’s trousers all the way off.

Zayn’s eyes nearly roll into the back of his head as Liam kneels and then kisses his way back up, trailing his mouth along the inside of Zayn’s thigh until his breath ghosts as the edge of his pants, a teasing grin matching Liam’s teasing fingers as he plays with the elastic hem.

“Leeyum,” Zayn whines, and his pupils are blown wide, he’s sure, with his arousal, his cock straining against the cotton fabric as a discernible wet spot grows because he’s so fucking hard just from kissing Liam earlier.

“I’ve wanted you for months,” Liam’s lips trace over the fabric just north of Zayn’s skin, and Zayn groans because he’s desperate for Liam’s mouth elsewhere. “I swear to God, Zayn, fucking months of watching you every day and wanting to touch you but I didn’t know –”

“Try years,” Zayn’s voice growls as he meets Liam’s hooded gaze. “Try years of watching you onstage and offstage and cuddling in every place we’ve ever been but not knowing if it meant the same to you because –”

Liam surges up and cuts him off with a desperate kiss that somehow rings with affection, and Zayn nearly swallows his tongue as he presses back, eager for the feel of Liam’s skin against his own.

But Liam pulls away after only a beat of Zayn’s racing heart and Zayn whines again, making Liam smirk.

“Needy,” he comments with a quirked eyebrow that Zayn refuses to claim responsibility for. A witty retort is on Zayn’s tongue but then Liam’s fingers drift to his trouser button and flick it open and Zayn’s mouth goes impossibly dry. Liam maintains eye contact as he peels off his trousers, and Zayn’s about to burst just from watching that – no one makes it look that good, he swears – but Liam’s reaching for his pants as well and then he’s –

“Fuck,” Zayn breathes out in a tone that’s frankly reverential as his eyes trace the strong lines of Liam’s toned body, clearly on display for his benefit and his alone, and his gaze snags on Liam’s flushed cock, pink and proud with precum leaking from the slit as Liam’s hand wraps around it, pulling the skin back to reveal the head.

“Leeyum,” Zayn whines, reaching forward to knock Liam’s hand away and replace it with his own.

Liam shakes his head though, a small smile still tugging at the corners of his mouth, and he leans forward to tug again at the waistband of Zayn’s pants. “Up,” he commands softly, and Zayn obligingly tilts his hips upward, thinking how hot Liam is when he’s demanding –

Liam peels the material away gently until Zayn’s cock springs up and slaps against his stomach, and Zayn flushes at the possessive look that flashes through Liam’s eyes as he licks his lips. Liam bends at his waist again, tracing lips over the black heart inked on Zayn’s hip – _It’s my favorite one, Liam admitted once when they were changing, eyes on the mark and Zayn hadn’t understood_ – and Zayn’s eyes close as he tries to still his thrumming nerves.

“Zayn,” Liam calls softly, ghosting his lips in a feather light touch over Zayn’s hip until he’s so close to where Zayn wants him –

Zayn forces himself to glance back down at Liam, eyes going wide with the view of Liam between his legs. “Li?” he chokes out.

Liam grins, like hearing Zayn’s voice was all he needed, and then he sweeps forward with no hesitation, lips encircling the head of Zayn’s cock.

The noise Zayn makes is frankly embarrassing as Liam sucks at the head of Zayn’s cock before moving further up the shaft with gliding ease and – “Liam, Christ, where’d you learn –”

Liam hums around his dick, and Zayn loses his train of thought in the rush of white noise as Liam hollows his cheeks and pulls off with a lewd pop. “I always thought you’d be loud in bed,” Liam admits, fingers tracing shapes into Zayn’s hips as he exerts slight pressure to keep Zayn from bucking impatiently. “Used to get myself off on the idea of you screaming my name.”

“You used to get off imagining this?” Zayn can barely breathe.

Liam hums in agreement, hand absently encircling Zayn’s dick to pump him and Zayn keens at the rough calluses against his hardened prick. “Always. Almost blacked out the first time I imagined you spread out on my bed and under me.”

Zayn’s brain short circuits because this is _Liam Payne._ This is innocent Liam Payne saying this shit to him, and fuck it’s somehow so much hotter than he ever imagined, and he’s imagined this so many fucking times.

“Liam, please –” it’s not even a full sentence because Zayn isn’t sure what he’s begging for exactly. He only knows that he needs more, more than Liam’s hand pumping out a steady rhythm helped along by Liam’s saliva, and Zayn just needs more.

“What, Zayn?” Liam teases, hand going faster for three pumps before he slows back down before Zayn can thrust into the loose fist and –

“Fucking tease,” Zayn gasps as Liam once again sucks lightly around his head, lips stretching obscenely.

Liam flutters his throat as he moves deeper, humming again like he agrees, and Zayn can’t, he just can’t –

“What do you want, Zayn?” Liam asks as he pulls away again, and Zayn can’t help the truly devastated noise he makes as the wet heat of Liam’s mouth leaves.

“You,” he breathes. “God, Liam, you. I’ve always wanted –”

Liam surges up, reconnecting their lips in hasty kisses as he shoves Zayn further up the bed until he’s halfway leaning against the headboard. Zayn’s eyes go wide as Liam pulls away from his mouth to settle himself, straddling Zayn’s thighs as his cock brushes Zayn’s, and he moans as Liam’s hands grip the headboard on either side of Zayn’s head.

“Liam, fuck, what are you –”

“Said I wanted to ride you,” Liam huffs, one hand letting go as he leans to the side a bit, and Zayn doesn’t even have time to ask before he’s leaning back, lube in one fist. “Meant it.”

Zayn can’t even think as he looks at the bottle clenched familiarly in Liam’s fist, and he – “Really?” he breathes, fingers dancing out to grab the bottle from Liam. He can’t believe – because he’s imagined sex with Liam hundreds of times, but he never imagined that Liam would want this.

Liam releases the bottle to Zayn’s fingers and uses his free hand to tip Zayn’s chin up. His smile is heartbreakingly sweet, even as he intentionally presses forward to trap their cocks between their stomachs, and Zayn keens at all the friction as Liam grinds down. “Yes,” Liam hisses, biting lightly along his bottom lip as he tilts his eyes down to watch their cocks rub together. “Yes, Zayn, please – I’ve thought about – and I just want – please, Jaan.”

It’s the endearment that slips out that makes Zayn surge up this time to kiss Liam into silence, and Liam groans into his mouth with abandon, and he swears he’s never seen Liam this relaxed before, even as his hands flex against the headboard. Zayn kisses Liam into compliance as he pops the cap of the lube and easily squeezes the cold liquid over two fingers. He rubs until it warms up, and then he’s reaching behind Liam, fingers dipping lower until –

Liam whines as Zayn’s fingers dance over his hole, pushing back until the tip of Zayn’s finger sinks in to the knuckle and they both sigh at the feeling. Zayn presses forward hesitantly, surprised when the glide is easy as Liam relaxes around him and –

“Li, have you done this before?” he breathes out, watching as Liam’s eyes flutter shut, eyelashes dusting his flushed cheeks.

“Y-ya,” Liam stutters out as he pushes back onto Zayn’s finger greedily, pushing it deeper. “A few times, thinking of you.”

Zayn doesn’t even try to quell the swell of love in his chest and he rewards Liam’s honesty with a devastatingly accurate curved finger that brushes against –

Liam whimpers, teeth digging into his bottom lip harshly as he presses eagerly back, circling his hips. “Yes, Zayn, please –”

Another finger joins the first without waiting, and Liam’s appreciative moan is all the encouragement Zayn needs to pick up his pace. He thrusts into Liam with his fingers, setting a harsh rhythm that’s too fast, but he can’t help it as he hits Liam’s prostate every few moments just to hear Liam’s breath hitch. His third finger joins the other two before long, and then Liam’s truly riding him as his hips move in obscene ways as he tries to force Zayn’s narrow fingers deeper.

“Zayn, please, fuck,” Liam begs, eyes open as he meets Zayn’s intense gaze, and his forearms flutter as his hands convulse when Zayn hits his prostate once more, holding there and rubbing. “Fuck, shit, Jesus please –”

And the litany of cursing turns Zayn on, and he gives in. “Shit ya, Li condom. I need a –”

“You don’t,” Liam gasps out as Zayn’s fingers leave him, and he grinds down onto Zayn’s flushed cock in response to the emptiness and they both moan as Zayn’s hands shoot out to force Liam still because he won’t last if Liam continues. “You don’t,” Liam repeats, shyer this time as only the sound of their harsh breathing fills the room. “I mean, not if you don’t want. I’m clean, and I’m pretty sure you are –”

“I’m clean,” Zayn blurts, tongue tripping over the confession because he can’t believe –

Liam grins and leans forward, ass pressing down as his tongue darts out to trace the shell of Zayn’s ear, and he whispers, “Want to feel you, just you. Want your cum to fill me up, Zayn baby, please –”

Zayn’s breath hitches hard in his chest, and then he’s shoving Liam up, fingers digging harshly into his hips as he arranges him. Liam giggles breathily only cutting off when Zayn lines them up and then brings Liam back down again, nudging the head of his cock past the tight ring of muscle.

Liam hisses, and Zayn stills, but Liam shakes his head furiously. “Not in pain,” he gasps, eyes open and pupils blown as he meets Zayn’s gaze. Zayn’s uncertain, but then Liam’s pressing down, sinking until he’s fully seated, ass pressed against Zayn’s hips and fuck –

They both breathe harshly as they adjust, and Zayn’s fighting hard not to move, because Liam needs time to adjust.

But then Liam takes control again, rocking forward slowly to test it. They both gasp at the feeling, and then Liam does it again, picking up speed. Zayn moans as Liam’s hole tightens around him, focused on how tight and warm Liam feels around him.

“Zayn,” Liam whines as he moves, faster and faster, beginning to ride Zayn in earnest, and one day Zayn swears he’s going to ask where Liam learned how to do this because there’s no way it’s natural, but he loses his words when he looks up to see Liam bouncing on his cock.

“Liam, fuck, babe you’re –” he chokes out, hands clenching until he knows he’ll leave fingerprint bruises on Liam’s skin, but Liam only grins, like he wants that too, and he moves faster still.

It’s all a blur of heat as Zayn’s hands convulse and his mind goes to white noise as Liam bounces faster, clenching and unclenching until Zayn’s lost his mind, he’s sure and –

Zayn tugs harsher on Liam’s downward grind, circling his hips to make sure he hits –

“Zayn,” Liam cries out, so fucking loud, head thrown back and throat going taut.

Zayn leans forward to attach his lips to the white column, sucking hard to leave a mark because he wants Liam to feel this for days. He pistons his hips upward, thrusting hard as Liam continues to ride him, and it’s so much – Liam tight around him, his hands making the headboard creak from the strain as he gasps on every thrust.

“Fuck, Liam, I had no idea –” Zayn breathes, pulling back to watch the exquisite expression on Liam’s face as his mouth opens to emit harsh breaths. Liam grinds slow against him, forcing Zayn’s cock deep until it’s nestled against Liam’s prostate and then –

“Zayn,” Liam cries out again, louder than before as he cums untouched between them, head thrown back in abandon as his ass clenches hard around Zayn’s cock.

It’s his name on Liam’s mouth and his hole convulsing around Zayn’s dick and the combination of their skin that sends Zayn over the edge. He thrusts up in a harsh series that loses its rhythm, and then he’s cumming hotly, keening, “Jaan!” as his world whites out around him and he sees stars against his eyelids.

He’s lost for a moment to the complete loss of control, his orgasm ripping through him so much harsher than he’s ever felt, and when he comes back to consciousness it’s to Liam slumping forward, head resting against Zayn’s collarbone as Zayn thumps back against the headboard. His hands still rest on Liam’s hips, and Liam’s hands drop from the headboard to Zayn’s chest, sprawling there, over his heart which thuds in a staccato rhythm as their breath gradually evens out.

It feels like an eternity before Liam speaks.

“That was better than I imagined.”

Zayn chokes on a laugh as his eyes flutter open, and he takes in Liam’s hesitant smile, so different than the cocky boy who boldly stated dirty suggestions earlier. “Good, ya?” Zayn can’t help but tease with a smile.

Liam laughs and then winces as Zayn shifts. Zayn pinches his hips to prod Liam upward, gingerly sliding out of him as they both hiss at the loss. Zayn’s careful to settle Liam next to him, sliding a bit lower so they’re more comfortable against the pillows, and its natural how Liam’s arm settles under Zayn’s head.

“Fantastic,” Liam breathes out when they’re settled with their noses brushing as they breathe.

Zayn chuckles, nudging his forehead against Liam’s and twisting an absent hand into Liam’s hair to tug gently. He bites his lip when Liam sighs out contentedly.

The moment between them feels fragile, warm and new, and Zayn knows that he could leave it. He could leave it exactly like this but –

“Li,” he mumbles.

“Hmm?” Liam mutters back, snuggling closer to Zayn until their legs tangle.

“What,” Zayn starts and then stops, at a loss for words.

“Zayn,” Liam’s eyes open again, swimming in slight confusion.

Zayn breathes out harshly, making himself maintain eye contact as he asks, “What are we now? Are we - ? I just mean, since we - ?” He chokes on a noise of frustration.

Liam laughs, eyes going bright as he relaxes once more. His fingers trace idle patterns over Zayn’s chest again, and Zayn breathes easier for it. “Well,” Liam begins in a perfectly teasing voice. “Since we just had ridiculously amazing sex, and since we’ve been eye-fucking each other for months –”

“Eye-fucking each other?” Zayn blurts out on a wild laugh.

Liam buries his grin in Zayn’s shoulder as he pinches his side. “Shut up, it’s what Louis said when –”

Zayn cocks a curious eyebrow, and Liam flushes. It clicks in Zayn’s mind immediately, Louis’s earlier words about Zayn underestimating Liam make perfect sense when he takes in Liam’s blush. “Liam Payne, did you go to Louis for advice?”

“Might’ve done,” Liam admits churlishly, and Zayn laughs again. “Shut up,” Liam whines. “I was madly in love with my best mate, and I didn’t know what to do.”

Zayn’s breath stops as he registers – “You love me?”  
Liam’s grin is nothing but sweet as he nuzzles his nose against Zayn’s. “Well, considering you’ve been calling me ‘life’ for the past several months –”

Zayn groans, closing his eyes in defeat. “Dony?” he guesses.

“Doniya,” Liam agrees with an audible smile. “She confessed after you left, and I cannot believe that you didn’t tell me.”

“What was I supposed to say?” Zayn huffs, looking back at Liam. “It’s not like you can just tell your best mate that they’re the center of your world.”

Liam grins happily at the blunt admission. “Fair point,” he murmurs, glowing at Zayn’s words. “But did you really think that you could go around calling me that and I’d never figure it out?”

“Was working so far.”

Liam laughs. “I would’ve looked it up eventually.”

Zayn grins. “Would you have pounced on me still, if you had?”

“I didn’t pounce on you,” Liam rolls his eyes. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t have had to if you had just told me –”

Zayn leans forward and kisses Liam softly to interrupt his rant, only pulling back when Liam melts against him. “I love you,” he whispers, brushing his lips against Liam’s with every word because he wants Liam to feel how much he means them.

The smile that overtakes Liam’s mouth is soft and slow and gentle and heartbreakingly wonderful. “I love you too.”

Zayn sighs out in relief because he’s been in love with Liam for years, and he never –

“Can I ask you something?” Liam asks quietly, going back to tracing shapes onto Zayn’s chest, covering the tattoos there again and again.

“Anything,” and Zayn truly means that now as a sense of completeness flows through his veins because Liam loves him. Liam loves him. Liam loves him.

“Keep calling me jaan?” Liam whispers softly, and it swells in Zayn’s chest until he’s sure his heart is lodged in his throat, how hesitant Liam is about all of this too.

Years, he thinks absently as he traces Liam’s every feature with calm eyes because he has time now. He has an infinite amount of time, it feels like, as Liam stays wrapped around him in a bed where they’ve just fucked and confessed. Zayn waited for years, and Liam’s apparently felt the same for months and now –

Everything just feels right, and it breaks Zayn’s heart in the best way that Liam wants Zayn to continue calling him jaan, even knowing what it means. Especially because of what it means.

“Jaan,” Zayn presses the word into Liam’s throat, just over his birthmark. “Jaan,” he repeats, sliding up to press it just beneath Liam’s jaw. “Jaan,” he murmurs over Liam’s lips because it’s a promise between them. A promise of a relationship, of something new, of a life.

Liam sighs and buries fingers into Zayn’s hair, tugging until their lips slot together more firmly, shaping the word back and forth until they run out of air.

They pull away and settle back down, completely tangled up in each other as Zayn tugs a sheet over them. Liam’s fingers continue to trace over every inch of Zayn’s skin, and the quiet lulls them toward sleep.

Liam’s breathing evens out first, his eyes fluttering shut as he shifts softly into sleep. Zayn leans forward to press one last kiss to Liam’s skin, precisely over Liam’s heart, and this time when he mutters, “Jaan,” it’s just for his ears, and it’s a promise.

It’s a promise of a lifetime, because, after all, that’s what the word means.


End file.
